


blood drive fictlets: prompt meme edition

by d__T



Category: Blood Drive (TV)
Genre: Drabbles, Horror, prompt meme
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-14 00:11:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20183023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d__T/pseuds/d__T
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin. Fics are either strict drabbles or a horror take on an innocuous prompt. Individual fic tags are in the chapter notes. Overall fic rating at highest chapter rating.





	1. prompt: sports

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings apply. Rating: T.   
We get a bit of insight into Rasher's youth.

"What's wrong with  _sports_ ?" Julian asks with the tone of someone who watches men's soccer for the broken limbs and dick slips.

Rasher looks at the edge of the bar and decides to not bang his head off of it. "What's _wrong_ with _sports_ is that I grew up in a _cult_ and they were _mandatory enrichment_."

"Mandatory enrichment." Julian says, sounding more amused than sympathetic.

"Fucking sucks." Rasher says heavily, thinking of growing too tall too quickly to coordinate his body and the horrible school supplied uniforms.

Julian pats his back and it feels condescending.

"Fuck off." Rasher grunts.


	2. prompt: coffeeshop au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings apply. Rating T.  
Rasher flirts with Julian with bad customer service over many days.

The flash bastard with the suit and sunglasses is back again.

Rasher writes  
"-Juliard!"  
"-Jared!"  
"-Jimothei!"  
"-Jean!"  
"-Jinnifer!"  
"-Jan!"  
on the cup.

The man leans over the counter, sunglasses pulled aside to reveal the fury on his face. "My _name_ is _Julian_."

"Oh, I know." Rasher says, looking down his nose because he's tall and not paid enough to care, "You're just so fun to poke."

Julian's expression warps rapidly from fury through amusement before settling on a satisfied smirk.

"Name?" Rasher asks like he hadn’t been confronted.

"Joshua." Julian says diffidently.

Rasher scribbles down  _Julian_ and his phone number.


	3. prompt: soulmates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Julian wakes up with a soulmate mark and rejects it out of hand until he discovers who it is.  
Warnings: explicit self harm. implied suicide and reincarnation per canon. dream/reality blurring.  
Rating: M

Julian dreams of red thread. Of pulling out of his body until there's a pile of it built up and up and up and nothing left inside him, he's just skin and then he collapses. Not into dust, not into nothing. Just collapses, empty, helpless, shapeless.

Julian dreams of red thread. Of pulling it out of his body in any way possible. Cutting it out no matter the damage, no matter the cost. Fate doesn't hold him.

He can feel it in every cell of his body.

When he wakes, there's a puddle of red thread by his wrist. He cuts the trailing end of it off as close to his skin as possible.

He pulls it out, his fingers curling uselessly as it pulls on his tendons and nerves, as his eyes water and close from the pain of it.

He cuts it out, great gashes up his arms and through his shoulders.

Always, he wakes up pristine and tied.

He'd tried so hard to be untrappable, unpredictable, unfateable. But here he is; he's made some mistake to come into alignment with a _soulmate_. 

Disgusting.

He ties a bracelet over the spooling divot in his wrist and goes about his life.

Rasher says: you've been dying a lot recently.  
Rasher says: Is there something going on?  
He says: None of your business.  
He thinks: Rasher is wearing his jacket more than usual.  
Rasher says, neutrally concerned: What kills you usually comes around to bite me, too.  
Rasher rubs his wrist under the cuff of his jacket.

Julian lashes out and grabs his hand, pushing his cuff back.

A red mark, worn from worrying.

A divot, a growing tail.

Julian snatches his hand back as if burned. 

“When.” Rasher demands.

“Two weeks.” Julian responds dully.

“Oh, fuck no.” Rasher stands suddenly and walks away.

It’s as good as confirmation.

Well, that’s something to think about.


	4. prompt: weddings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Warnings apply.  
Julian is the model for a wedding themed photoshoot, and Rasher gets dragged along.

Julian retired from cult television star-dom into relative obscurity. Sometime he does modeling work- and with a body as fine as Julian’s, how could Rasher blame them? He likes to look at the pictures of his man looking fine and receiving the adoration that he deserves, too.

But this? Rasher wants a cigarette.

The director wants to make a point, and Julian has never made a point without Rasher by his side. So Rasher’s wearing a suit that fits no worse than anything else that he’s ever worn while Julian is resplendent in an elegantly foofy white dress. 

He wants to crawl up Julian’s skirts and hide from all of the blank clicking cameras. He knows this is a fucking farce and that the director hates his face.

He could have stood it if they’d paired Julian with a woman too young for him. Julian had never cared for women in any meaningful way. Hell, they could have paired him off with some hot twink and made some mockery of the strong woman trope and it would be fine.

But this, the director making him stand next to his man. The flowers and the spring-white decor. The roses and ribbons. To pose them together in mockery of the ceremony when they can’t have it for real? He’s so mad he could throw up, so mad that Julian can feel it boiling under his skin when they hold hands for a picture. 

_Soon_ , Julian whispers to him in another staged intimacy. And then,  _I’m keeping the dress._

Broken and desperate, Rasher begs,  _Don’t be cruel._

"_I won't_." Julian murmurs. 

In the end, it’s the only the picture from the set that Rasher likes.


End file.
